Always
by MizJoely
Summary: An alternate, happier ending for "The Six Thatchers" featuring Warstan and Sherlolly.
1. Alternatively

_Spoilers for the end of "The Six Thatchers"._ E _verything that follows the first line is pure wish fulfillment on my part for S4. This will be a two-parter with mentions of infidelity but no MCD._

* * *

"Sherlock," Mary said warningly.

He paused in mid-deduction, instantly understanding what she was trying to tell him: if he continued in his scathing commentary, Vivian Norbury would snap and do something they'd all live - or not, if that was actually a gun she had in her hand-bag - to regret.

So he stopped. He and Vivian eyed one another warily until John, Mycroft and Lestrade showed up, along with a pair of officers who very efficiently cuffed the secret-selling secretary (as John would call the case in his blog, naming no names in the interests of national security) and led her off to jail.

Sherlock accompanied the Watsons back to their flat, took several photos of his sleeping god-daughter, fired every single one of them off to his brother under encryption, swept Molly up into the cab with him back to London, and left the little family he'd managed to protect safe at home.

Or so he thought.

 _Can I bring Rosie by for the rest of the day?_ JW

 _Of course. Although I'm surprised the clinic called you both in for work, knowing your personal situation._ SH

 _Normally I'd love telling you you're wrong. Will explain later._ JW

Sherlock raised a brow at John's cryptic answer. His first instinct – to fire off a new series of deductions, most of them revolving around John's sister Harry and her unfortunate propensity for alcohol – was swiftly quashed. If it was Harry, John would have said so outright. John wasn't cryptic. Ever.

So with a combined sense of anticipation and trepidation, he waited for John and Rosie's arrival…and quite heroically kept himself from firing off a text to Mary demanding to know what was going on.

 **oOo**

"John?"

Mary frowned as she entered the flat. It was immediately obvious that John wasn't there – which meant Rosie wasn't there, either. A run to the shops? A case? She looked at her phone – nope, no missed calls or texts. She sent her missing husband a quick query, only to freeze as she heard the quiet buzz of his phone nearby. A quick glance revealed that it was sitting on the coffee table, with a note propped up next to it.

Nerves prickling, she moved swiftly forward. Their life hadn't even settled back down for a full day, for Christ's sake!

She didn't relax upon seeing the familiar handwriting on the folded sheet of paper; just because John had written the note himself, it didn't necessarily follow that he hadn't done so under duress.

However, as she read what he'd written, she almost – almost – found herself wishing he'd been kidnapped.

 _My dearest Mary, I've left my phone for you because, well I'm too much of a fucking coward to do this in person. "If you love me, don't read it in front of me because you won't love me when you're finished, and I don't want to see that happen." Sound familiar?_

She stopped reading, taking a few long, slow breaths, bringing her racing heart back under control before taking up the letter again.

 _Please read the series of texts you'll see under the contact name 'E' and then, when you've finished, read the second note I've left under the phone. Please._

She looked down, a mere flick of the eyes to confirm the presence of another folded piece of paper tucked beneath John's mobile, then finished reading the first note.

 _I'll be at Baker Street. Waiting. For however long it takes. Sherlock and Molly have Rosie; you can pick her up any time you like at Molly's flat. Even if you don't believe me –and I won't blame you if you don't – just remember that I love you. No matter what I've done, I love you. John_

It took her a full minute to actually pick up John's mobile, to do as he'd said and scroll down through the line of texts. She read them all, from start to finish, then dropped the phone onto the coffee table.

 _This isn't a good idea.  
I'm not free.  
Things won't end well.  
It was nice to get to know  
you a little. Sorry._

That was the last text.

She picked up the second note with shaking hands. Unfolded it. Read it. Dropped it on the table. Picked up John's mobile, with its lockscreen picture of the two of them holding Rosie. Considered hurling with all her strength against the wall and watching it smash.

Instead, placed it carefully into her handbag, exited the flat, locked the door behind her, and headed for Baker Street, the words from her husband's second note still whirling through her mind.

 _It was never physical, I swear. That's no excuse; it was still wrong, I know it was wrong, but I just…fuck. There's no excuse. She was sweet and pretty and I enjoyed the attention and knowing I was still attractive even if I was a middle-aged husband and a dad. I let my ego override my common sense and this was the result. Just know that it was never about not loving you. It was only about me being selfish and stupid and now it's about me realizing how selfish and stupid it was. I may have lost you forever and if I did it's my own fucking fault and I can say I'm sorry a million times over but I know I won't deserve it if and when you decide to forgive me. Anything else I guess I should say to your face so I will. I love you Mary, and I will do anything to make this right. And if there isn't anything I can do, that's your decision and I'll respect it. But I'll never stop loving you. John._

Right up to the moment she entered Sherlock's flat, Mary had no idea what she was going to do. But as soon as she saw John's stricken face, her racing mind stilled, her focus cleared, and with a few quick steps she was standing directly in front of him.

He never saw the punch coming; She laid him out flat. Blood streaming from his nose and split lip, he stared up at her from his prone position on the floor. "Yes," Mary said calmly as she stared right back down at him. "You deserved that. And we'll talk about it later. After we go pick Rosie up." Then she extended her hand, waited for her errant spouse to reach up and take it. Helped him to his feet.

Let him hold her hand as they headed out. Because if there was one thing Mary Watson had learned, it was that no one was perfect – and that no matter what mistakes she and John made, now or in the future, she would rather they dealt with those mistakes together than apart.

Always.


	2. The Art of Perception

_And here is the Sherlolly half of the story. Enjoy!_

* * *

"He didn't tell you why he needed us to watch Rosie? Or why he needed to use your flat?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Nope," he lied as he jiggled Rosie in his arms. She was cooing and reaching for his face, and he let her tweak his nose before gently prying her fingers loose and kissing them noisily.

He felt Molly's gaze on him like a physical weight – but not an unpleasant one. She always seemed so amazed by his attentiveness to Rosamund Mary Watson, so tickled that the man who had more than once declared his aversion to human emotion was so willing to show it to their god-daughter. It didn't a perceptive person to tell that he loved Rosie unconditionally, and Molly was a very perceptive person.

A bit too perceptive sometimes. Like now, when she walked up to him, gave Rosie her finger to gnaw on, and said quietly, "It's fine if you're not allowed to tell me. But I know it can't be something good, like John wanting to surprise Mary with the afternoon off for just the two of them."

"It still could be," Sherlock protested automatically, mind busy concocting a dozen scenarios he could present to her as evidence. But she just shook her head, and his lips closed on the words before they could be spoken.

"He wouldn't need your flat. He'd have just dropped Rosie off and you would have just told me that when you called to see if we could spend the afternoon together." Her voice was steady but her eyes were sad. Sad, and knowing. "But it's not something you can tell me and that's…that's fine." She nodded firmly, as if trying to convince herself of the truth of her words. "You and Rosie are always welcome here."

Her smile was bright and sweet and as false as any he'd ever given her back in the days when he thought he was fooling her into helping him. "It'll be fine," he blurted out, abruptly handing Rosie to her. "They'll be fine."

Damn. He'd said too much when he hadn't meant to say anything at all. Why did Molly Hooper always have that kind of an effect on him? Before he could do any more damage to John's trust in him – he hadn't exactly said 'Don't tell Molly' but it was implicit in his request to take Rosie until either he or Mary or both of them came to get her – he loudly announced his need for an ice lolly, promised to bring one back for Molly as well, and escaped her flat for the safety of the shops seven blocks away.

He took his time making his way there, but of course couldn't dawdle on the way back. Still, he managed to kill a good hour – texting Molly more than once to reassure her that yes, he planned to return – before he found himself back on her doorstep. He let himself in with the key she'd given him after Reichenbach, pausing in the entranceway as he automatically noted the details that told him Rosie was no longer there. "How long ago did they pick her up?" he called as he shut the door behind him.

"About five minutes, you just missed them," Molly replied as she poked her head around the corner. She was in the kitchen, no doubt washing up the neglected dishes from her interrupted lunch. "You got me a strawberry calippo, right?"

"Of course," he replied indignantly. As if he would have forgotten her favorite! As he handed her the lolly, he saw the tight set of her lips. "Oh, they told you, did they?"

She nodded. "The bare bones of it, yeah. They're going home to talk about it. They said thank you for watching Rosie and promised – well, Mary promised – that there wouldn't be any raised voices around her." She methodically opened her treat before adding, "Mary must have a mean right hook. Can't say I blame her."

An image of John with a bloodied nose and split lip sprang to mind, but Sherlock ignored it – Molly was right, his friend deserved that and more and was damned lucky his wife loved him – and focused instead on the woman in front of him. "Would you have done the same?"

Molly shrugged and avoided his eyes. "Probably would have just slapped him," she mumbled, taking a great deal of interest in her ice lolly.

"And we both know you only slap people you love when they deserve it," he replied quietly. "Molly, I never did say…I really was sorry about your engagement ending. I wanted you to be happy and it seemed like you were, at least for a little while."

"I was. I really was happy…right up until the minute I realized I was settling," she said, just as quietly. Still not meeting his gaze. "But that's over now and I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind." She gave him another one of those bright, fake smiles. "Thanks for the ice lolly. I'm sure you have better things to do with your day than hang around here, now that Rosie's gone. Whatever you were doing when John…"

"No." The word came out more forcefully than he meant it to, and he softened his tone as he took a step forward and tossed his half-eaten lolly into the sink. "No, actually, I don't. I don't have anything better to do with my time, I wasn't doing anything when John texted me except ignoring my emails, and I just…you still love me, right? Even though I've been more than a bit not good to you over the years?"

She finally looked at him, and the naked honesty in her gaze took his breath away. "Of course I do, Sherlock. You're in my blood. You don't ever have to worry about that. I'll always be here for you, no matter what. Even if you started taking drugs again, which we both know I hope you never will, even then I'll always…"

He silenced her with a kiss that shocked both of them. When it ended – a mutual pulling-back – she murmured, "Well, can't say I saw THAT coming."

"Me either," he agreed. "But now that it happened…is it all right? Was it a bad idea? You said you love me, but John and Mary also love me and presumably Rosamund does as well although it's not a good idea to ascribe complex emotions such as love to a six-month-old…"

This time Sherlock was the one silenced by a kiss, and the press of Molly's soft, warm body against his, her arm curling around his shoulder and her fingers resting lightly on the back of his head. The kiss lasted longer than the first one by several seconds, and once again ended by a mutual pulling-back. This time, however, they continued to hold one another (when had he encircled her with his arms, didn't matter, she felt natural, she felt _right_ ) as the kiss ended. "I love you," Molly said. "I'm in love with you. Yes, this is all right. No, it's not a bad idea unless you only did it because you're worried about John and Mary."

He scrunched his nose and squinted at her in confusion. "Why would I kiss you because I was worried about John and Mary? Kissing you had nothing to do with them, except maybe in the sense that for once in my life I found myself wanting what they have. Not the infidelity of course – and John's lucky he stopped before anything physical and therefore much less forgivable happened – but the having someone. Having you, specifically," he added, in case she was in need of clarification or reassurance that it wasn't just a matter of proximity.

Molly Hooper, however, a clearly superior woman in every way that mattered, gave him an understanding smile and pulled him down for a third kiss. "If you want me, you can have me," she said when that kiss ended, a reminder of the first day he realized just how clearly she saw him – and how vastly he'd underestimated her perceptiveness.

He nodded, reaching up to cradle her face in his hands. "Oh yes, Molly Hooper," he rumbled as he lowered his face to hers for a fourth kiss. "I do, indeed want you. Always."


End file.
